


in your blind spot

by crookedspoon



Series: no guilt on my conscience [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reverse Robin, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Batfam Week 2020, Batkids Age Reversal, Creepy Jason Todd, Extremely Underage, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, POV Jason Todd, Painful Sex, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: The plan is simple: slip in, play with Dickie's head, slip out. Little did he expect the runt to have witnessed something he shouldn't have.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: no guilt on my conscience [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659172
Comments: 10
Kudos: 173
Collections: Tales from the Cave





	in your blind spot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 4 "Robins / Reverse Batfam AU" at batfamweek 2020.
> 
> Storytime. I've had this idea since almost exactly a year ago (Mar 14, I think - god, how is it March already?) but I've been too chicken to write it before because it's nasty. The first time I cobbled some sentences together was in July. Then nothing happened until I wrote the first work in this series, which I posted separately because it focuses on JayDami and is not quite as bad as this one. Then again nothing until I saw that Batfam week was on the horizon. And since I'm trying to clear my backlog of ideas this year I thought, might as well.
> 
> Mind the tags. You've been warned.

The night is black as ink and as silent as the deep, dark ocean. Jason breathes slowly through his open mouth and strains his ears, moving no more than an inch at a time to stay conscious of his surroundings.

Silver moonlight bleaches Dickie's face white as the pillow it lies on. He's restless, his expression strained, and quiet whimpers tumble from his lips. He tries to keep them inside with his fist pressed against his mouth, but some escape anyway. Some even bear the shape of Dickie's nickname for Jason. 

Maybe that's why he wants them to remain hidden. Maybe, if he keeps quiet enough, no one is going to hear him. No one is going to know about this.

But Jason knows. 

Jason has been watching him. Dickie can't hide this from him. Not when he's kept dogging Jason for months despite Jason's best efforts to get rid of the little pest. He hated him. Hated him for being the new kid. For taking up Bruce's attention. For taking up _Damian's_ attention after Bruce had died. But Dickie didn't seem to get the memo. He just wanted to spend time with his predecessor. His hero.

(Jason had stubbornly refused to be flattered by Dickie's high esteem. The kid was several years his junior and probably still believed in the tooth fairy and the good of humanity, so what the fuck did he know? Jason wasn't going to let a little flattery erode his resentment.)

Jason had worn his antagonism like a suit of armor, sure, but that doesn't make Dickie's quiet huffs any less adorable.

Jason slips into the room and creeps closer on silent feet, deftly avoiding the floorboards that would call attention to his presence. He doesn't want to give himself away so soon.

"Jay, Jay, Jay," Dickie whimpers frantically.

Jason has to stop and bend over, hands on his knees, just to _breathe._ He's so hard it's unbearable. This close, Dick's raspberry bubblegum scent tickles his nose, wafting out distinctly from the more generic manor smells of floor polish and clean linens.

This close, the sound of skin slapping against skin is unmistakable. Even if the silver moonlight were not outlining the shapes in front of him, Jason would be able to picture what he's gonna find even before he flicks on the bedside lamp.

With a startled gasp, Dickie sits upright and scrambles back up against the headboard like a tarantula.

"Jay?" he asks in a reedy voice, then squeaks and belatedly rips a blanket over his bare skin. He squirms beneath it as though the mere touch of fabric is too much to bear. "What are you doing here?"

"That's my sweater you're wearing," Jason comments off-handedly.

Dickie looks down sheepishly and picks at the hoodie he's basically drowning in. It's a vibrant red with incriminating rusty spots of color. Jason had hidden it away carefully, intending to burn it at the next best opportunity. He knew he should have rid himself of it immediately, but he didn't want to raise suspicion by staying outside for too long and he wasn't going to leave it somewhere it could easily be found and traced back to him.

"What would Damian say if he could see you now?" he asks. What would he say indeed? How appalled would he be to learn that his beloved Dickie is having naughty thoughts about his adoptive brother? Jason loves how many possibilities this opens up to him. "I ought to spank you for stealing it."

Dickie squeaks again as Jason grabs his frightfully thin ankle and yanks his ass closer to the edge of the mattress. He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't really thought about it before it came out of his mouth, but the way Dickie stares at him with wide eyes turns the idea from mildly entertaining to highly appealing.

"And going by the looks of it, you want that, too. Like you've been waiting for it."

Shaking his head frantically, Dickie pulls the hoodie down over his junk -- as if that would make Jason forget Dickie had been playing with himself when he came in.

Jason claps the underside of Dickie's naked thigh, earning himself a choked-off whine. He breathes it in, deeply. There was a time when he used to sound like that. Tiny. Weak. Pathetic. He wonders what sort of feeling he evoked then. Was it pity? A sense of protectiveness, a need to take care of him? Or was it disgust at his display of weakness and an accompanying compulsion to punish him for it?

It doesn't matter. He's no longer that sniffling runt that hides under a table when his parents are having a fight. They used to do that a lot. But now they're dead. 

(The acrid smell of gunpowder still sits in his nose, the warmth of their blood and brain matter on his skin, the weight of the trigger on his fingers. He'd needed two to fire, that's how weak he was. But no longer.)

The mattress dips under him as he sits down on the edge, legs spread slightly to accommodate his pulsating erection. Then, gathering all his strength, he drags Dickie across his lap by his ankle, like reeling in a big haul. And like a big haul, the tiny thing struggles, claws at the sheets and tries to kick at him, all in the vain attempt to postpone the inevitable.

Dickie gasps when the first slap resounds. Jason pins him with a forearm across his shoulders to stop him from squirming away.

"You're only making this harder on yourself by resisting," he says and smacks Dickie's ass again. He's not going to mention how hard he's making Jason.

"I'm sorry," Dickie says but he does not listen, trying to break Jason's hold. "I'm sorry I took it."

Another slap, this time on the back of Dickie's thigh because he keeps wiggling. 

"I just borrowed it! I wanted to give it back, I swear."

Jason is merciless and hits him harder, three times in quick succession. Dickie tenses, a whine stuck in his throat. A pretty shade of red is blooming on his abused hiney. Jason kneads it to take the sting out of his hand. It's already feeling hot.

"Is that before or after you came all over it?" he asks.

"Huh?"

Jason smacks him again. "You're a filthy kid, Dickie."

"No!" And again. "I just--" And again. "I just wanted--" And again. _"Please."_

Jason drinks in the rising desperation in Dickie's voice, the sharp hitches of his breath that sound like he's close to crying. With a clarity that's almost shocking, a goal pops into his mind: he needs to make Dickie cry. It puts a strain on his arm, but Jason pushes through, just like he does during his Bat training.

"Stop, Jay, please, no, _ah,"_ are the only words Dickie is able to alternate until he can't even form those any longer.

Jason only slows down once Dickie is openly sobbing and hot tears are rolling from his cheeks. His feet are still scrabbling against the floor, but weakly, like involuntary twitches. Dickie slumps over Jason's lap the moment the onslaught ceases completely. His chest is heaving, his thighs trembling, and sobs are wracking his whole body at intervals.

Jason breathes in deep. His hand is still resting on Dickie's glowing buttocks, as if serving as a reminder that he can start again any time he pleases. He's not going to -- at least not unprovoked -- his fingers only brushing over the hot skin. He feels more tender now that he's accomplished what he's set out to do. (Dickie sounds so beautiful when he cries.)

Jason also feels hot, and sweaty. His entire body is awash with the volcanic heat that radiates out from his throbbing hand. Lifting his other arm from Dickie's shoulders, he wipes beads of sweat from his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Dickie chokes out finally and breaks into another sob. "I didn't mean to keep it."

Jason grabs Dickie's ass harder but says nothing. The kid yelps.

"It reminds me of what you did," he whispers after another bout of silence, fingers digging into Jason's pants. "For me."

"And what is it you think I did for you?" Jason is not in the business of doing favors for little thieves that steal his spot as Robin.

"You-- you went to him even when Damian said we wouldn't."

"Who?"

Dickie scrambles to push himself up and looks at Jason with big, tear-stained eyes. 

"The man who killed my parents," he says. "Damian said we would deal with him once we had gathered enough evidence and I was ready to face him, but then we never did. But you did."

"What makes you think that?" Jason asks, watching Dickie's chest heave and the tears leak uncontrollable down his wet cheeks. He feels sweat roll down his own forehead.

"I saw you. I was there that night."

Jason glowers. That night had been as dark overhead as this one, the street lamp near the hideout flickering and buzzing and giving Jason the opportunity to flit from shadow to shadow unseen. Until he chose to reveal himself. Or so he thought.

"Why were you there?" Jason strokes the entire length of Dickie's spine under the hoodie, all the way up, then all the way back down. Dickie shivers violently.

"I followed you." Dickie's fingers curl into Jason's pants again, this time dangerously close to his erection. "You went there every night for a week."

That's true. He'd cased the joint, recording the comings and goings of everyone involved, learning the guards' schedules, how many men were inside at all times, who they were, and what vices they had.

"How much did you see?" Jason asks and places his hand against Dickie's neck, thumb brushing away a tear that wanted to drip from his jaw.

"Just what happened before you went inside."

For some reason, that's a relief. It means that once Jason has destroyed this hoodie, Dickie won't be able to tie him to anything. He looks so pretty when he cries, Jason thinks as his thumb brushes over his thin neck. And he sounds so pretty, too. It would be a shame to make sure he won't ever talk.

It still rankles him that Dickie knows. Jason thought he'd been so careful. He'd waited for just the right guy to be guarding the back entrance, someone who would just as soon invite a suspicious boy inside as he was to send him away. Sure, Jason didn't _have_ to rely on his usual tricks -- he could have just as easily killed the guy and stolen his keys -- but a dead body attracts attention and Jason didn't want to feel rushed. So he'd waited for the door to close behind them before he attacked. He sliced the guy's throat so he couldn't scream out. And he'd taken out the other men inside the house one by one, the way he'd been taught to, so that no one could sneak up on him when he confronted the main player.

"Then you haven't actually seen anything," he says.

Dickie's lips tremble and his eyes flicker away. "And-- and then once it was over." 

Dickie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few quick breaths before scooting between Jason's knees and throwing himself into his arms.

"I snuck in because I wanted to see if you needed help," he rattles on. "And because, you know, I wanted to be there because Damian wouldn't let me _do_ anything. But I also knew that you wouldn't want me there either, so I stayed high and stuck to the shadows like Bruce taught me--" Dickie picks up on the way Jason's fingers clench at the name and tries to course-correct, "--and Damian taught me, too, so you wouldn't see me.

"I followed the trail of bodies upstairs where I heard talking and I thought I heard your voice, too, and then there was a thud like something dropping to the floor. I got closer and that's when I saw you. You had your hoodie up and were staring at the man writhing on the floor. He was clutching his throat and opening his mouth as if he had more to say but only blood was coming out. Blood was also dripping from the knife you were clutching by your side. Your hand was as red as your hoodie. You stood there until Zucco was no longer moving, only taking a step back when the dark pool on the floor nearly spread to your soles. I waited until you were gone to look at him myself. To assure myself that he's really gone."

He hugs Jason tighter.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jay. You have no idea how much that means to me that he's dead."

Jason doesn't know what he's feeling at that moment. On the one hand, he's angry with himself. His entire focus had been taken up by his goal that night. If he had been a little less obsessed with it, a little more clear-headed, he might have noticed Dickie following him. He might have noticed someone else in the house with him. On the other hand, he's angry with Dickie for observing him during his private moment of victory. It's between him and whoever falls to his knife, not a spectacle to gawk at.

"Are you going to kill me now, too?" Dickie asks in a small voice. He's finally calmed his sniffling. "Because I know?"

Jason has thought of it. Of pressing Dickie's slim neck into the mattress and watching him gasp for air until either his slim neck snaps or he suffocates. The deed itself would be almost laughably easy. Hiding it from the rest of the household less so. Despite their differences over the Zucco case, Dickie loves Damian and wouldn't run away for long. And the way Damian dotes on Dickie, he wouldn't sit still for long before searching for him, either. The case would be open and shut in a matter of minutes and Jason doesn't want to find out what Damian would do to him once he found out.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone!" Dickie leans back to look up at Jason with his earnest eyes. "You're my hero, Jay."

The words shouldn't hit him the way they do. Dickie has made no secret out of his worship of the former Robins. Jason got the biggest dose because he's his immediate predecessor. And yet, it's always felt tied to the title of Robin. It felt like Jason was only worthy of praise when he wore the mantle.

This is different. Jason had not acted as Robin; in fact, he had acted in a way that defied Bruce's teachings. And yet, Dickie still sees him as a hero.

So naive.

"Oh, Dickie," he says and grabs the kid by his arms. "You still have a lot to learn. There's no such thing as heroes."

"You don't believe that. I saw how much you loved Bruce."

"Don't say his name!" Jason snaps and throws Dickie onto the bed. The kid flinches as he lands but ignores the pain in his backside to crawl up into the nest of pillows, the way he did when Jason first flicked on the light.

"He was your hero," he says defensively, as if that would end the argument.

"And now he's dead."

Dickie scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes as if to wipe away fresh tears. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You think that fucking changes anything?!"

Jason all but leaps onto the bed to loom over Dickie.

"No," Dickie shakes his head, trying to make himself small by pressing his back deeper into the pillows and folding his knees against his chest. It exposes his bright red ass, giving Jason a good view of his handiwork. "I-- I know it doesn't. I just am. I'm sorry. I miss him, too."

Tears roll from the corners of his eyes and his throat spasms as if he was trying to keep himself from sobbing again.

"First my parents, now him..." Dickie winds his fingers into Jason's sleeves. "I don't want you to leave, too."

Jason snorts, too caught up in his anger to feel dumbfounded by this statement. "Is that why you get off in my sweater? Because it makes you feel like I'm close? Makes you feel protected?"

Dickie takes in a sharp breath and frowns, no doubt trying to figure out the meaning behind Jason's words. "I guess so. It smells like you."

He looks away and presses his cheek into the pillow as if wanting to disappear into it.

"It makes me feel good," he murmurs, hunching his shoulders. "Makes me want to touch myself. You know, down there?"

Dickie's words tickle Jason's arousal, soothe his temper. The kid is adorable when he's embarrassed and Jason wants to eat him up. It's what he came here for, in a way. How did he let this get so out of hand? All he wanted was to play around a little.

"Is that bad?" Dickie asks, so unsure that Jason barks a laugh. Dickie's eyes widen as if Jason had struck him across the face. How is Jason not supposed to have fun with that?

"Oh, it's very, very bad," he says and kneads Dickie's ass with both hands. The kid whines so beautifully. "You're a naughty little thing indeed to be getting off while thinking of me."

Dickie opens his mouth to protest and Jason uses the opportunity to shove two fingers between his pretty lips.

"Ah-ah-ah, no backtalk. That sweater is filthy with dried blood. Don't you think that makes you filthy just by wearing it?"

Dickie's face falls. He swallows around Jason's fingers and he makes a high-pitched noise. Jason exhales. Dickie's mouth feels so good around his fingers and his cock twitches like it's the one getting sucked. And fuck, that image alone is enough to make Jason come in his pants. Dickie would look so good with his lips wrapped around his cock. 

"So," Jason says conversationally as he pulls his fingers from Dickie's mouth, now shiny with saliva. "Where exactly is it making you feel good? Here?"

Jason drags his slick index finger over Dickie's penis and drinks in every twist in his face and twitch in his body.

"Or here?"

As he crests Dickie's tight little sac, he switches to his middle finger and rubs it over Dickie's cute, pink hole.

Where Dickie has been writhing into the touch before, he's tensing up now. 

"That's dirty," he says.

"Oh, I know," Jason says with a leer. "But it can feel good, too. Let me show you."

Without waiting for an answer, Jason crooks his finger into Dickie, who is even tighter than Jason had imagined. It makes him tremble with a dark desire.

"That doesn't feel so good," Dickie whines, screwing up his face.

"Shhh, you gotta relax into it," Jason reassures him. "Here, let me help you."

Dickie's brows are knitted in doubt and discomfort as Jason slips down and kisses his navel. His skin is so soft Jason could spend days just running his fingers over it. He wonders if he could make Dickie come from that alone. Too late to find out now. He wouldn't have the patience for it, anyway.

"Show me how quiet you can be."

Dickie sucks in breath after breath the closer Jason's kisses bring him to Dickie's awakening erection. He does relax around him, too, somewhat, and Jason feels his own cock leaking as he's working to get his second knuckle into Dickie's amazingly tight hole.

Dickie is squirming and looking down at Jason nervously as Jason plants an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his erection, just above his sac, and Jason blinks at him slowly just before he drags his tongue upwards and pushes his finger deeper.

Dickie mewls his name and clenches around Jason and it feels amazing, so Jason does it again. He suckles at the tip of Dickie's erection and fucks him with the tip of his finger and it's only showing the tip of what Jason _could_ be showing, but Dickie already seems overwhelmed. It's adorable.

He's breathing in shallow gasps you would never hear from him during training and he's squirming from side to side, shaking his head, grasping the sheets, then Jason's sleeves, clamps his knees against Jason's chest only to let them fall open again and to kick his legs out.

And throughout it all he gifts Jason with the sweetest little moans he'll ever hear and Jason is throbbing and wet and he takes out his cock just to relieve some pressure. He's not going to last long, but at least he knows Dickie is not going to be either.

Time to show him how good this can really feel.

Jason sucks him all the way down and thrusts his finger in as far as it will go. Dickie's back arches off the bed and a hoarse cry wrests itself from his throat. Dickie's erection is flexing against his tongue as the rest of his body is shaking uncontrollably. Jason hums a soothing tone, but it only sets Dickie off more.

Finally, Dickie slumps in on himself, exhausted and sobbing, fresh tears falling from his eyes. Jason kisses them away, from his eyes down to his chin, and with the taste of salt still on his lips he presses them to Dickie's. Dickie sobs again, or maybe it's a surprised intake of breath combined with another gush of tears, and he lifts his head as best he can to kiss back.

His lips are sealed and puckered, and it's cute, it's adorable, and maybe later Jason will peck him like this, but for now Jason needs to kiss him deep, to fuck his mouth with his tongue, and hear him moan from the sheer intensity of it.

Dickie's mouth is wet, so wet, and Jason wants to slide his cock into it, feel the slick heat surround it and bring him to completion. But he doubts he has the necessary coordination to make that happen. He can barely make proper use of his tongue as he flicks it against Dickie's lips. His only saving grace is Dickie's inexperience, because he's likely unable to tell how fucking clumsy Jason is right now.

Dickie makes a surprised noise as Jason's tongue slips into his mouth. Jason moans. He runs his tongue against Dickie's and moans deeper. He loves how skittish Dickie is, how he's shying away from all the things Jason is making him feel and curious about them at the same time. It makes Jason want to introduce him to a world of pleasure that's going to blow his mind, simply to see how he'll react to it every step of the way. It would be so delicious.

Jason throws his head back with a gasp. He's close. He's rubbing the slick head of his cock against Dickie's pretty pink hole and stroking himself.

"Dickie," he breathes. "Fuck, Dickie."

"Jay," Dickie whispers, "what--?"

As Jason guides his cock into Dickie's tight passage, Dickie freezes, clenches even tighter to fight off the intrusion. Jason groans and grabs Dickie's hips.

"It hurts," Dickie whines and scrunches his face, but Jason pays him no mind. He's trying to rock himself deeper into Dickie's delicious body. "Jay, you're hurting me."

"Shh, it's okay," Jason says and kisses him again. "It only hurts the first time."

He rolls his hips against Dickie's, steadily sinking deeper each time.

"Just relax. You'll get used to it."

"Jay, stop. Please, it hurts." 

"You're making me feel so good, Dickie." Jason moans but doesn't stop. Doesn't ever want to stop. "You want to make me feel good, don't you? I know how brave you are, and how much you can handle. You can handle this for me, can't you?"

With fresh tears shining in his eyes, Dickie peers up at him. He looks so fucking scared, but he nods. This beautiful creature actually nods. Jason kisses him again. Dickie swallows hard and his labored breath puffs against Jason's mouth.

"You're so good, Dickie. So good to me."

Jason continues showering him with praises and kisses as he carves himself ever deeper into Dickie, every thrust pushing another grunt from the kid. He knows first-hand how well those words work and how much of a lie those reassurances are, but that doesn't stop him from making them. Hope is a powerful tool, and as long as Dickie believes it's going to get better, he's not going to fight too hard.

In fact, he doesn't fight at all anymore. He just takes in big, gulping sobs and clings to Jason's shoulders, legs splaying open, letting Jason take what he needs.

"You feel so good, Dickie," Jason says one last time and then he's coming, body spasming and releasing hot pulses inside Dickie's tight passage.

He pulls out, fists his cock, and jerks himself roughly, just to mark Dickie on the outside, too. Some of his come lands on Dickie's hips, but most of it spurts across the hoodie Dickie's still wearing.

Once he's wrung the last drop out of himself, Jason collapses next to Dickie. The kid is sniffling, but quietly now. Jason wipes one of the sleeves of Dickie's hoodie over his face to wipe up the snot and the tears, then pats it dry with the other.

"Better now?" Jason asks and brushes a thumb gently over Dickie's cheek.

Dickie nods, but avoids eye contact, still sucking in breaths as if he were about to start crying again. Jason kisses him sweetly before tugging the hoodie over his head. He throws the thing off to the side and folds Dickie against him.

"You were so good, Dickie," he whispers and kisses his ear, running his fingers across Dickie's incredibly smooth skin.

Dickie puffs out a breath and softens against Jason, hugging him back. Occasionally, a sob still wracks his tiny body, but they even out the longer Jason continues stroking him. Jason is... surprised. Dickie handled this a lot better than he would have given him credit for. He'd expected him to scream and fight, no matter how much he considers Jason his hero. But he'd taken it all in stride, and Jason... Jason likes that. In a different way than he would have liked Dickie fighting him all the way. It makes him want to find out what else the brat is going to let him do and how far he can push him.

"You know I love you, right?" Jason asks.

"You do?" Dickie asks, hope glittering in his eyes.

"Didn't I just prove it to you? When we made love?"

"Oh. But. It hurt. I didn't-- I thought you didn't like me. I thought you were testing me."

"Oh Dickie," Jason says and rolls on top of him, kissing him until Dickie is squirming against him again, mouth slack and gaze vague. "It's a brother thing. Brothers hurt each other sometimes, right? Like when we get into a fight over silly stuff. Sure I was testing you, but that just means I love you very much, do you understand?"

Dickie frowns at him but he nods reluctantly. Such a cute kid he is. So eager to please.

"And because it's a brother thing, no one else is allowed to know what happens between us. It can be our little secret, like what I did for you, okay?"

"Okay."

"I knew you were a smart kid."

Dickie grins and giggles when Jason kisses him again, first on his wide mouth, then on his cheeks, his eyelids, and forehead.

"If they knew how much I loved you, they'd take me away from you, and then I'd be gone. Like your parents. Like Bruce. You don't want that, do you?"

Shaking his head, Dickie wraps his arms around Jason and squeezes him. "You can't leave me, too."

"Shh, I won't," he whispers soothingly. "You're mine now, Dickie, and I'm never letting you go again."

Dickie's smile then is bashful and beautiful, as if Jason had spoken a vow of eternal devotion. Who knows? Maybe he had. When you're young, everything seems possible. Dickie certainly seems to think so.

"I love you, Jay," he murmurs as he nestles against Jason.

"I know." Jason smiles back, brushing Dickie's hair out of his face. "Sleep now, my pretty bird. I'll be here, watching over you."

How easy this kid is, Jason thinks fondly. He might actually come to care about the little runt. For all that he hated his guts before, he feels pretty possessive of him now. Dickie is the sweetest thing that's ever crossed his path and Jason wants him all to himself. 

It's risky what he's doing; Dickie is a sharer and might just blab to Damian about what happened as soon as morning rolls around. A part of Jason wants to see Damian's face when he learns that his sweet little Dickie is no longer as innocent as he was the night before and that it was Jason who corrupted him.

Another part of him would rather not learn first hand what manner of torture Damian would devise in such a case. Castration seems too kind an option.

Not that Jason worries about any of that now. The repercussions are very real, but they also seem far off. He's too busy imagining himself getting away with it. The longer he does, the more it's going to break Damian's heart when he does eventually find out. He worships that kid.

Wouldn't that be a blow? Dickie is the perfect knife between his ribs. Jason can have his fun _and_ hurt Damian at the same time.

With Dickie sleeping the sleep of the exhausted next to him, Jason hopes that they can spend a lot more time together before everything inevitably goes to shit, the way it always does.

Because Jason's just getting started.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Brand New Numb" by Motionless in White.


End file.
